


Scare

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 07:05:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The guys get a phone call that could change their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scare

## Scare

by Trekker

Author's website:  <http://www.members.aol.com/trkkr47/slash/dir.html>

These guys belong to Pet Fly. Unfortunately, the real show was canceled before it got to the good part.

I must thank my betas more than usual for this one. They're always wonderful, but this story, this one I made them read again and again. Jenn, Anita, you know I love you. Thank you!!!

Well, actually, this was only supposed to be the beginning of a story, but it kind of took over and became its own story. So. That's just how it goes sometimes.

This story is a sequel to: Identity 

* * *

The evening of what would be the worst day of my life, I came home from a long day testifying in court to find the loft dark and, for a second, seemingly deserted. I thought that was kind of weird considering Jim and I had things to do. Our commitment ceremony was next week, and we were going to finalize our plans tonight. But then, before I'd even had time to finish that thought, the scent of candles and dinner hit my nose and my eyes adjusted enough to see the table had been set with our nice plates and silverware, and was lit with two tall, white candles. Jim was standing in front of the stove, stirring something. The first thought to cross my mind was, ok, what did he do this time? 

"Hi, honey, I'm home," I said, cheerfully, "What's all this?" 

Jim looked up and smiled, the candlelight glowing in his eyes. My knees turned into jello, like they always do when Jim smiles at me like that. Let me tell you, that gets annoying after awhile. 

"Hey, Blair." 

After this little display of his complete mastery of my endocrine and autonomic nervous systems, he simply went back to cooking. Ok, I was intrigued. I tossed my keys in the basket and stripped off my jacket and tie, hanging them both neatly on the rack by the door (heaven help me, I've been domesticated) then casually strolled into the kitchen and inserted myself between Jim and the stove, leaning back against his chest. Ha. He's not the only one who can cause massive spikes in hormone levels. 

"You know, Jim," I said, wiggling my hips a little, "If you want sex, you just have to ask. I'm easy. No wining and dining required." 

I felt his chest shake behind me with his nearly-silent chuckle, then he laid down the spoon and wrapped his arms around me, giving me one of those brief, rib-straining squeezes. 

"I like wining and dining you, Snookums. You're beautiful by candlelight." 

Hey, he really is one of those romantics... who'da thunk it? 

"Jim..." I said, proving he's not the only one around here who can growl. 

As usual, Jim was unfazed. So unfazed in fact, he just ducked his head down and started to nibble on my earlobe. Crud. That felt really, really good. My ears are totally an erogenous zone. My knees did their jello imitation again. Damn, that's twice in less than five minutes. 

"Come on, man, dinner's cooking, can't you wait a few minutes to eat?" 

"No." 

His breath cooled my damp skin, tickled my ear. I know he must have felt the shudder that ran over me. Over the past three months, I'd gotten pretty good at this whole cuddling-with-Jim thing. Oh, yeah. Cuddling with Jim was definitely ok by me. I shut my eyes and reached behind us, wrapping my fingers around his ass and pulling him flush against me. The man's got an incredible ass. And it fits so well in my hands. 

And speaking of hands, his migrated down my stomach to clasp loosely at my crotch. He released my earlobe and nuzzled my face, his nose bumping against my cheekbone, his breath caressing my chin. 

"I missed you down at the station, today, Chief." 

I turned my head just enough to touch his tantalizingly close lips with my own. It wasn't really a kiss for a moment, we just let our skin touch, breathed one another's air. Then he sighed, and his tongue snaked out for a moment, wetting both of our lips. I shifted the last necessary bit and opened my mouth beneath his. I was surrounded by Jim, tasting him, smelling him, feeling his firm muscles against my back and his hands against my dick, right now just passively resting there. As corny as it sounds, I feel so safe in his arms, so warm and loved and protected. 

His mouth was hot and slick. His tongue played gently with mine. Heaven, Nirvana, perfect place of your choice, man. 

He pulled away after a moment and murmured, "Gotta stir that." 

That's Jim for you. Eternally practical, and yet hopelessly romantic. The man of contradictions. His hands threatened to move away from my crotch, but that would just not do at all. 

"Don't you dare move, man. I'll get it," I said, not opening my eyes or turning my head. I let go of his ass and grabbed the spoon with one hand and rested the other hand on Jim's, to push them a little more snugly into place. He gave a small huff of approval and flexed his fingers, giving my dick something to think about. As I started stirring, I turned my head up, seeking his lips again. I wasn't disappointed. Mmm. I love kissing Jim. Took a little getting used to the idea, but man, he's a great kisser. Not that you'll ever know. He's totally mine. 

The telephone ringing scared the shit out of us. 

Jim stumbled back, with a muffled curse, and I knew he must have had his sense of hearing turned all the way up. That had to hurt, 'cause that damn ring sounded ridiculously loud even to ME. 

"Easy, man, dial it down," I said, still stirring the vegetables. My back felt cold without Jim's warmth pressed against it. 

"Yeah, yeah," he said, as he hurried to the living room to get to the phone. "Ellison," he snapped, with a little more snarl than he even usually uses. I think the idea is to frighten telemarketers, not to mention my ex-girlfriends, so much they never call back. Actually, it works pretty well. On my ex-girlfriends, anyway... 

At first, he just did the standard, "uh huh, ok, yep," routine, and I didn't really pay any attention until he stopped talking. And then, in this voice I've never, ever heard him use, he said, "What? Are... you sure?" 

Man, even now, looking back, I can remember that moment in perfect, surround-sound digitally-remastered detail. The moment I realized that something was seriously wrong. It still gives me chills. He sounded as though he couldn't get quite enough air into his lungs, he seemed to sort of wheeze the words. I looked up. He stood by the couch, with the phone pressed to his ear, completely, utterly still. His gaze cut through me like a blue laser beam. My instincts, recognizing that stance, made me freeze as well. 

"Jim?" 

His legs buckled suddenly and for a second I thought he'd passed out or something and was going to end up sprawled on the floor, but before I could react, he'd hit the back of the couch and stayed there, half-sitting, half-leaning against it. My heart began to beat faster. Something was very, very wrong. 

"Right," he whispered. "Thanks, Simon." 

He lowered the phone slowly from his ear, and hit the disconnect button with his thumb. He didn't make any move to stand up, so I laid the spoon aside and turned down the heat, then approached him slowly, like he was some kind of wounded wild animal that might lash out unexpectedly. Trust me, sometimes that's just how one has to deal with a Sentinel. I knelt down beside him and rested my hand on his thigh. 

"Jim? What's wrong?" 

He turned his head, but his eyes stayed fixed on the same point he'd been staring at for a moment before they, too, turned to look down at me. 

"Blair... that... was Simon." 

"Yeah, Big Guy, so I gathered. What's up? Is Darryl all right?" 

Jim licked him lips, then nodded. 

"He's fine... Blair, do you remember Jeremy Matera?" 

I slid my hand up his thigh to where his hand rested up against his hip, and I slipped my fingers under his. 

"Yeah, man, how could I forget him?" 

Just for the benefit of those of you who don't know, Jeremy Matera was the son of a drug lord. He'd also been "borrowing" some of his father's merchandise... both for business and pleasure. He was only fifteen, but he had a whole gang of dealers working for him, not to mention several hit men to take out the competition. Seven months ago, I'd been responsible for the bust that brought him down. I was escorting him out of the warehouse when all hell broke loose. Jeremy's daddy showed up and he was fighting mad. At me and at Jeremy. 

I'd escaped with one bullet hole, and Jeremy with two, but we'd spent about two hours crammed behind a stack of boxes bleeding on each other. Not the best way to spend a Friday evening, but we were alive. 

Jeremy's father was the first, and so far, thank god, only person I shot and killed. 

"What about him?" I prompted, inadvertently slipping into what Jim calls my "guide voice." 

Jim's hand curled around mine, and he stared at our linked hands. 

"He... he just tested positive for HIV, they're not sure how long he's had it." 

"Oh, man," I whispered. The world seemed to shift around me. I felt dizzy, and I slumped to the floor. With the force of a flashback, I found myself remembering the hours Jeremy and I spent behind the boxes, weak with blood loss, crushed up against each other like lovers, hearing his father's henchmen mere feet away, feeling our blood mix and mingle as it soaked through my clothes, warm and sticky... 

"When was the last time you were tested, Chief?" 

"Few months ago," Guide voice gone. Shot to hell. Now just scared, shaky Blair voice. "It might not have... shown up, then, right? Jim?" 

He let himself drop down off the couch, and sat down next to me, pulling me into his arms. He was shaking. Oh, god. Oh, god, seven months ago. I could have had, had HIV all that time. Fuck, there was a girl who... the condom broke... just a few days after the bust... and, and Jim. Christ, Jim and I had... just three months ago we'd first made love. And we'd done it without a condom. What if I... he could... Jim, oh god, Jim. I'm so sorry... 

His arms suddenly went python-tight around me, uncomfortable in the awkward position we were in, him sitting with his back to the couch, me cross-legged beside him. He buried his face in my hair and held me. I heard and felt him take a deep, deep breath, and loosen his grip ever so slightly. 

"Jim, we need to, I need a blood test. Now. I've gotta know, I-" 

"Blair." 

The quiet, firm word stopped me, and I just pushed myself as close to him as I could get. I had enough adrenaline in my veins to power a city for a week. Not that it was doing me any fucking good. The fight-or-flight response has nothing on a microscopic virus. 

"Simon managed to get us an appointment at eleven at the all-night clinic. We should eat," Jim said. 

His voice was stronger. I could practically hear the walls clanging into place in his mind. For once, I was actually glad for the fact that he was an anal-retentive, repressed bastard. Well, at least for the repressed part. Never thought I'd say that. 

I actually managed a shaky laugh. 

"You expect me to eat?" 

"Yeah, I do." He pulled away. "Come on, Snookums." 

I was too deep in shock to even protest the nickname. He let go of me and braced his arms to stand up. I looked up at him, and he gave me a small smile. 

"We'll be all right, babe," he said, sounding completely convinced, and then he did stand up. I was cold again. 

He held out his hand and I took it, let him pull me to my feet, but then I didn't let go. I didn't want to ever let go. He gave my hand a tug and then suddenly just plain engulfed me in his arms again. I hugged him back fiercely. My ear was against his chest and for once _I_ could hear _his_ heartbeat. It sounded fast. Oh god, I couldn't stand it if he was sick. I'd never, ever be able to live with myself. 

Especially now. Why now? Everything was going so well. We were about to get married for crying out loud. Forever was supposed to be a long time. 

I was basically a mess. I mean, I barely remember the interval between that hug and sitting down at the table to eat. I couldn't taste the food, couldn't even raise my head to admire the way the flickering candlelight played over Jim's face. Everything was really quiet at first, but then Jim said, totally out of the blue, "I called my dad today." 

"Oh, yeah?" I said, trying to sound casual. I poked at my food. Ok, conversation was really the last thing I wanted right then. 

"Yeah. Eat, Sandburg. Anyway, he said he'd like to come." 

Whoa, that was a shock. William Ellison wanted to see his son's gay commitment ceremony? 

"What? Really?" 

Jim nodded. 

"Yeah. Really." 

"Um. Wow. I would have thought he wouldn't be... too enthusiastic about us." 

"He found out I was gay back when I was still a teenager, Blair. He's had more than twenty years to get over it." 

I stared down into my food, and then forced myself to take a bite. 

"It's just... most people never change, you know?" 

"You did." 

I glanced up and saw he was smiling, watching me. I looked away again quickly. 

"Yeah, well, I'm not most people, man." 

"I know, Chief. Believe me, I know." 

His voice practically dripped with love. It hurt to hear it. It really did hurt. How could he be so calm, how could he still love me? I may have just cost him his life. 

I was still sitting there, sort of off in my own personal zone brought on by shock and self-loathing when I felt him touch my arm. I stood up so fast I knocked chair clean over. He was caught pretty off-guard by that, quite understandably, and he jolted away from me. But he didn't stay away, of course. The moment he recovered, he was back there, beside me. He took my elbow in his hand and led me towards the living room. Too dazed to do anything else, I just followed him all the way to the couch, where he sat us both down and got me settled in his arms again. I love this guy so much, you know? He really is my Blessed Protector. 

Anyway, he held me for a little while and then he moved away, catching my chin with one hand and turning my face up so I had to look him in the eye. 

Once he was sure he had my attention, he murmured, "It's not your fault, Chief. Even if there is something wrong, it's not your fault, and we'll get through it together, you hear me? Together." 

I couldn't have looked away from those beautiful blue eyes if I'd tried, man. 

"Chief..." he continued, "no matter what, I don't regret this. These past three months," his grip on my chin loosened a bit and he ran his thumb slowly back and forth over my lips, "They've been... incredible. It doesn't matter to me how long I live. I've had a good life. I just want to spend the rest of it with you, ok?" 

He blinked, and to my great surprise, a tear rolled down his cheek. The sight of Jim crying was enough to make my throat clench tight, and all I could do was nod. 

"Good. Good," he said, then leaned forward and kissed my lips, so softly. "I don't want to waste a single second we have." 

He cradled me in his arms and bore me gently down onto my back, his lips meeting mine as my head came to rest against the cushions. I kissed him back, one hand going to the back of his head to stroke his short, soft hair, and to keep his lips near mine. 

It's the best thing in the world, making out with Jim on the couch. I love just holding him, fully, or at least partially, clothed in my arms, kissing him, touching him, not rushing or pushing, just getting lost in the feeling. It's like getting as close as humanly possible to each other, not even air between us, trying to meld into one being. It was also everything I'd stupidly feared wanting from Jim. Passion, intimacy, love. That's what we did that night. For hours. 

We ignored our dicks for the most part, settling for a languid, rhythmic rubbing of bodies, rocking our hips and never breaking our kiss. Hands strayed beneath shirts and around asses, kneaded muscles, caressed skin, teased nipples, all slow and measured, never moving faster than a crawl. Eyes opened for mere moments at a time to see flashes of our lover's passion-filled face, then shut again, to let other senses rule. 

It felt so good, a slow burn, building so gradually, that it caught both of us completely off-guard when it ended. Jim suddenly tucked his face next to mine, and I felt a tear fall from his cheek to my ear as he opened his mouth in a soundless scream, a long exhalation. His hips jerked against me and he came in his pants. The feeling of his body slumping down against mine, shuddering with aftershocks, totally stunned me. That had never happened before. 

I did the only thing I could think of. I embraced him tighter and whispered over and over again how much I loved him as he sobbed into my shirt. Whoever said that real men don't cry should be shot, man. 

* * *

He hauled himself off of me at 10:30 and silently padded up the stairs. The candles had burned out on the table, and the loft was dark except for the constant glow of the city lights. I got up as well, slipping on my shoes, and walked out onto the balcony. 

The cold night hit me like a knife and I wrapped my arms around myself and leaned against the railing, letting the chill run through me and clean the cobwebs out of my mind. Down below came the sounds of traffic, and someone shouting. Everyone seemed to be going about their everyday life, and why shouldn't they be? Just because my personal universe had been knocked off its axis, doesn't mean the world's gonna stop. 

At some point, that might have been comforting, but right then, it was only depressing. Jim and I, we could both be gone, and life would go on like it always had. Those people down there on the street wouldn't even notice that apartment 307 was suddenly vacant. All that stuff about bells tolling for thee and no man being an island, it's bullshit. 

I shivered as a small breeze swirled around me, then I turned and walked back inside. Jim was just coming down the stairs, wearing a clean pair of jeans. We met about halfway across the loft and he slipped his arm around my shoulder. 

"Ready?" 

I nodded. 

"Yep. Let's get it over with, man." 

* * *

So forty-five minutes later, there we were, sitting in a chilly exam room in a quiet all-night clinic, waiting for the nurse. I was sitting up on the table, my palms pressed together and squashed between my knees, my legs swinging rhythmically, and Jim was sitting in the chair, arms crossed over his stomach, not moving. Neither one of us was saying anything, and the quiet... it was all-encompassing, man. 

I felt sick to my stomach, and I was kinda wishing I hadn't agreed to eat anything. Jim was flinching at nothing, and I knew that meant his senses were acting up. They used to do that a lot, when he was stressed. I wondered idly if that was why he'd come tonight. Maybe his sense of touch spiked... 

He flinched again, his whole arm jolting, so I finally mustered up the energy to say, "You all right, Jim?" 

He dipped his head twice, then fixed his gaze on a picture hanging on the wall opposite him. 

"Fine. Just a couple of spikes. Nothing I can't handle." 

Yes, yes, ordinarily, that would have sent me through the roof - "Just a couple of spikes? Spikes are bad, you haven't had spikes in ages!" - but tonight, I had no energy for that kind of outburst, and I knew he didn't either. So I just nodded, kind of rocking my whole body back and forth a few times, and let him be. 

The fear had faded a bit, and now it just quietly throbbed, you know, like the pain in a deep wound. My throat had gone dry and everything seemed a bit distant and fuzzy. Like it wasn't really real. 

The door opened quietly and a short young woman in bright pink scrubs walked in. She had straight brown hair that didn't quite reach her shoulders, and dark, dark eyes hidden behind a small pair of glasses. She was the type of woman I would have been all over just three months ago. 

She smiled. 

"Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg, right?" 

Funny how my desire to project an image of heterosexuality actually outweighed my fear of death. I mean, come on, I knew what we looked like. Two men arriving together for an HIV test in the middle of the night... Yes, it is stupid, I know. I can't help it, ok? I hopped off the table, found the power somewhere deep inside of me to grin, and I offered my hand. 

"Blair Sandburg. And you're Katie. Unless you just stole her name tag." 

Jim practically choked, catching the reference to a long-ago Dr. McCoy, and pressed a fist to his lips to keep from laughing out loud. Katie just giggled softly, and squeezed my hand for a moment. 

"Up on the table, Mr. Sandburg," she said, letting me go. 

I complied, joking, "What? Right here? In front of Jim? And please, call me Blair." 

She ducked her head, and blushed, still smiling, then turned to the counter to begin setting up the needles and vials. I saw Jim shaking his head, but the corner of his mouth was turned up every so slightly. 

Katie finished up and turned back around. 

"Ok, you want to go first, Blair?" 

"Sure," I said, grinning again and thrusting out my arm. "Give me your worst, man, I can take it." 

She whipped the rubber strap around my arm and swabbed my skin with a speed and skill that seemed out of place for her youth. I guess she'd probably taken a lot of blood samples, being a tech at this clinic. It kind of brought me back to the present, y'know, noticing the rubber gloves, how carefully she held the vial once she finished drawing my blood. The logical part of my mind said that nurses always handled blood careful. The emotional part said that she was afraid of me. All my bounce deserted me. 

"Ok, Blair," she said, "Jim's turn." 

I got down just as Jim stood up, and our shoulders brushed as we passed each other. I paused, then stepped back closer to the table, reaching out to Jim as he got himself settled on the cool metal surface. His hand met mine halfway and our fingers curled together. I took another step closer and let our hands rest on his thigh. Katie really, really didn't seem surprised. 

Oh well. That was all right. I could deal with that. At least she wasn't screaming faggot at us, or vandalizing our cars, or leaving threatening messages on our answering machine. Yes, all of those things had happened. It's strange that they did, because our relationship didn't really change that much on the outside, as far as I could tell. People just seemed to know. 

Katie untied the strap from Jim's arm, gathered up her stuff and left the room quickly, saying as she walked out the door, "We should have the results within a half-hour. You can go on out to the waiting room now." 

Jim squeezed my hand and stood up. 

* * *

During the half-hour out in the waiting room, I think I processed maybe five words of the magazine I was reading. I kept squirming in the uncomfortable, hard plastic chair and looking up at Jim who was sitting in another chair against the far wall. My magazine was Time... from two years ago. His was Seventeen. Yes, Jim was reading Seventeen. He seemed a hell of a lot more enthralled than I was... Well. It was kinda late at night, I guess. 

There was only a handful of other people in the room, and they all seemed half-awake at best. One man kept coughing, but everyone else was very quiet, so we were all startled when someone shouted, "Detectives Ellison and Sandburg?" 

Jim lowered his magazine and met my eyes over the top of it, then he tossed it aside, and we both stood up and walked back. 

A doctor with cold eyes and grey hair pulled back in a bun ushered us back into the exam room. Neither Jim or I sat. We just hovered near the wall, eyeing the doctor. I could see that tell-tale muscle twitching in his jaw that meant his tooth enamel was probably suffering. I reached out and touched his wrist, and he visibly relaxed. 

After a few moments of nerve-wracking paper-shuffling, the doctor looked up at us. 

"So, it's been seven months since the suspected time of exposure?" 

Exposure? Oh shit. My world stopped again. I couldn't fucking breathe. I vaguely recall staggering against Jim's side. He caught me with one arm as thought I were some kind of damsel in distress and said, in an amazingly calm voice, "Wait a minute. Does that mean the results were positive?" 

She seemed surprised. 

"Oh. No, not at all. The results were negative for both of you. If it's been a full seven months, you have nothing to worry about." 

Ok, ok, there we go, air again. Air is good. Make those lungs work. 

"We're... we're ok?" I gasped. 

"Yes. No sign of antibodies. Unless you've been exposed in the past three or four months, chances are you're completely clean." 

I laughed. Yeah, laughed. I know, it's weird. I guess it's kind of a human thing. All the stress and such. I just started laughing and couldn't quite seem to stop. Jim seemed kind of nonplused at first, then he clutched me to his side. I don't know exactly when I stopped laughing and started crying, but I know that by the end of it all, I had my face buried against Jim's shoulders to catch the tears. 

Now, I don't cry a lot. I didn't cry after the whole dissertation thing. I didn't cry after I fucking died, man. I came close to crying that morning in the hotel, but just close. But I guess everyone has their limits, you know. And I'd just reached mine. 

The doctor must have left at some point, because Jim and I were alone when I finally got myself back under control. I pulled away from him, brushing his arms away with my hands. He stood there quietly as I took a few deep breaths and dried my face with a sweep of my arm. 

"Ok," I said, standing up straight and rolling my shoulders, "I'm ok, man. We're ok." 

I looked up to meet his gaze. He smiled, a warm smile that shone in his eyes, then reached out and took my hand, squeezing it and releasing it. 

"Yeah. We're ok. Wanna go home?" 

"Oh, yeah, man. Home sounds very good right now. My baser instincts are acting up." 

He raised his eyebrows. 

"Oh really? I like your baser instincts, Sandburg." 

* * *

Ok, so we didn't quite make it home per se. But we did... well, we did make it to the truck. Which was, thanks to the gods of wayward Sentinels and Guides, parked way in the back of the shadowy, mostly empty lot under a burned-out street light. It was pretty damn cold out there, as I mentioned before, but that wasn't why I was shaking. Left-over adrenaline does that to you, you know? Well, I know, anyway. God knows I've had enough experiences with adrenaline over the past five years. Jim's line of work kind of sees to that. Um, anyway, so I was shaking, and Jim of course noticed. I came to a stop in front of the passengers side door and, instead of walking around to the drivers side, he just bumped up behind me and wrapped his arms around my stomach. Then leaned down and kind of nuzzled his head up under my hair and kissed my neck. 

Oooh, the shiver had nothing to do with cold or adrenaline. But... 

"Jim, we're in the middle of a fucking parking lot." 

You know what he said? Do you? He said, "I love it when you talk dirty, babe." 

And when he said it, his breath tickled the hairs at the back of my neck and all of a sudden I had goosebumps, like everywhere, and I _knew_ that we were not getting back to the loft. But I'd be damned if we were going start necking right there in front of everybody. No way. Everybody knows that's what back seats are for. 

"Jim. I'm only going to say this once. Get. In. The. Truck." 

And he did indeed get in in the truck. That big guy can move fast when he sets his mind to it. He whipped the door open, crawled in (giving me a lovely view of that gorgeous ass of his) then spun around and grabbed me, both arms around my shoulders, kneeling on the seat, pulling me halfway into the truck. And kissing me. And it was one hell of a kiss. For a good who-knows-how-long I forgot that my center of gravity was totally off and I was sort of hanging out the door of the truck in a public place. 

And then, of course, I remembered all that, and I gave Jim one good shove, tumbling him over into the driver's seat flat on his back and I clambered in over his legs and slammed the door shut behind me. This little maneuver put me in a rather pleasant position, kind of sprawled on top of Jim, feeling the muscles moving in his chest as he panted beneath me. Well, ok, it wasn't that pleasant. I mean, the truck isn't exactly a king-sized bed, you know what I'm saying? My knees were pressed against the door behind me, so my feet were kind of dangling over my back. But then, Jim's knees were also drawn up, one leg caught between my thigh and passenger seat, the other leg awkwardly tucked up next to the glove box. Which basically meant my groin was perfectly lined up with his, and left no doubt that he was very, very hard. Hell, in seconds, so was I. 

I scrabbled a bit for purchase, finally managing to brace myself with one hand tucked under him on the seat and the other against the dashboard. I hoisted myself up and looked down into his eyes. He just looked right back. I got the feeling he was waiting for some direction. So I gave him some. 

"Ok, here's the deal," I said, amazing myself with my ability to think clearly, "I'm going to sit up. Then you're going to sit up. Then, you're going to get the hell out of those pants." 

He inhaled sharply, and his hips thrust up once, slightly, against me. I shut my eyes for a moment and groaned. Man, I hadn't even gotten to the good part, yet. After I got my libido back under control (no easy task, I assure you), I continued. 

"And then, I'm gonna fuck you." 

"Christ, Blair," he hissed. 

I ignored him and put step one of my plan into action. I struggled for a moment, then I got a good grip on the passenger side door handle, and managed to get myself up and sitting back on my heels between his legs on the seat. 

He took a moment to catch on, and for a moment, just lay there, motionless, like he was kind of trying to show off the lump in his jeans. And then, five seconds later, after a flurry of limbs, he was sitting up. I vaguely wondered if he learned how to do THAT in covert ops. And then his hands were fumbling with his fly and coherent thought became a very low priority. 

I flipped around in my seat, so that I was sitting facing forward with my feet on the floor. Ok, first things first. I reached down between the seat and the door, tugged on the little lever there to move the seat back and recline it a bit. Hell, I'd done this with a girl once, but I had no idea if... Oh well, we'd find out. Next... next... my own fly, yes. Cause man, this was getting painful, if you catch my drift. Damn, was that a relief. 

Ok, now... I flipped open the glove box. Condom and a travel-size tube of lube. Um, yes it is kind of a bad idea to keep those things in the truck. Funny story about that involving Simon... I'll tell you later. I ripped open the condom packet and was about to put it on, when Jim's hand caught mine and stopped me. I froze, and turned my head. 

Oh god. 

He was sitting facing me in the driver's seat, one leg tucked up under him, hard as a rock, naked from the waist down except for those white socks of his, his pants were crumpled down by the pedals. 

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Oh, GOD. 

My fingers went numb - I guess the blood in my extremities was sacrificed for the greater good - but that was all right, cause Jim took the condom from me and rolled it onto me with just the barest hint of fingers touching my skin. I couldn't help but raise my hips to meet his touch. I let my eyes shut as he began to slowly smooth lube over the latex. It felt cold as ice against the burning heat of my skin. I let myself fall back in the reclined seat. 

"Jim, Jim, Jim," was all I could think of to say. 

That was also ok, though, because it seemed Jim had gotten with the program. He wrapped his slick hand around my cock and pumped it slowly a few times, then released me and gripped my hips firmly with both hands, pulling me down a little lower in the seat. And then... He straddled me on his knees, and edged closer, squeezing my body between his muscular thighs. For a moment, I wasn't sure if this was going to work after all. Then he reached around behind himself, held my cock in his hand, leaned back slowly and I was inside him. 

"Oh, Blair. You feel so good, Chief." 

I just said his name again as I felt his body slide down around me, muscles clenching and relaxing, delightful friction, so tight, so hot, so damn good. I lived and died in that moment. And then he started to rock back and forth, slowly easing my cock in and out of his body. Oh, yes, that was even better, yeah... It always feels so good to be close to him like that, buried inside him... actually _inside him._ As close as I can possibly be. My best friend, my lover, my Sentinel... there just aren't enough words in the world to say how much he means to me. And to think I had some stupid hang up just cause he was a guy. God, what an idiot I was. 

Jim leaned back a bit more, resting his elbows against the dashboard, and on the next downstroke, he cried out, his hands tightening into white-knuckled fists. His body clenched around me, and I moaned as well, and then I began to thrust up into him. A shudder rippled over his body. My rhythm was irregular at first, but I caught on quickly, and then we were both moving, faster. I began to stroke him in time with our thrusts. 

You know, Jim and I probably have more after-crises sex than the rest of Cascade's couples combined. But it never loses its power. It never stops proving that we're both still here, both still warm and alive. 

Oh yes, we were definitely alive. Alive and panting and fogging up the windows and fucking, and there was no way to doubt that beautiful body above me, and suddenly it all caught up with me at the same moment - I could have lost Jim, I could still lose Jim - and then my orgasm hit and I threw back my head and screamed as I came in hot pulses inside of him, and I knew he felt it, because he jerked in my hand and came only moments later. 

I didn't even realize I'd spoken outloud until Jim rolled off me and pulled me into his arms and whispered, "Never. You'll never lose me, Snookums." 

Yeah, it was a lie, not even an obsfucation, but it was a nice lie, so I didn't say anything. I just let him hold me until he recuperated enough to drive. 

Then we went home. And that was the worst day of my life. What's that, you say? Anticlimactic? Well, fuck you. Personally, I'm glad as hell there was a lot of build-up for nothing. And besides, I thought there were some very nice climaxes that night. 

* * *

End Scare by Trekker: trkkr47@aol.com

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Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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